


An Attempt to Flip the Scale

by AgnesTomlinson



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: A brief moment of suicidal thoughts, Alternate Universe, Artist Zayn, Based on a song, Coffee Shops, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, M/M, Writer Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:17:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9197648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesTomlinson/pseuds/AgnesTomlinson
Summary: He knows what it is like to see a problem clear and have the solution for it, but not having the power to put it in action. What it is like to know all the reasons to why things are like they are, and know how to avoid it, but yet not being able to actually avoid it. Knowing that by they way things are that you’re heading towards a disaster, knowing you should hit the breaks and how you do that, but not being able to put your foot down and stopping the motion from happening.OrThe one where Zayn and Louis meet and bond in a coffee shop, they may have more problems than they care to admit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hii!!  
> So this is something I've been working on for quite a while and I'm kinda happy with how it turned out...   
> The song this story is based on is called 'Lua' and is by the band Bright Eyes, the title for the story is from another of the band's song with the same title.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this story :)

It is a bit of habit by now, Louis will admit. Walking the thirty minutes it takes him to arrive at the cozy little café beyond the closest park of his flat. The walk there might take thirty minutes and there are probably about twelve cafés that are closer to his flat. But for some reason he is particularly fond of just this one. There really isn’t anything special about the café, but the walk there is quite nice and it helps Louis to clear his head.

 

The walk there is down the street he lives on and he can watch his neighbours go around doing their things, hurrying off to work, forcing their kids into the car so they won’t be late for school (again), university students glaring at everything and walking half asleep towards the bus station. Louis greets some of them every morning and one of his elderly neighbours, a nice lady that insist he calls her Martha and not Miss Green, always stops him to have a chat. Louis enjoys these conversations, because the chances Louis otherways gets to have these kind of interactions are few and far between. So he loves to listen to Martha talking about her little garden, her grandkids and how Louis  _ must  _ come over and have tea with her one day. And he promises her he will, that it would be his pleasure, but they have been saying this for over three months and Louis knows that he will never actually step a foot inside her apartment. But still, he promises he will and he tells her about university and how his writing is going. And she smiles and hugs him at the end of their little meeting. Their relationship is all about giving and taking, and Louis knows that they only do this because they are just as lonely as the other.

 

When Louis has walked ten minutes down his street he comes to a park. The park is not very big, but it is beautiful and it is the inspiration he needs to get through each and every day. He always walks slowly through the park, and he stops to look at the flowers, and sometimes he takes pictures, and sometimes he stops and talks with Mr Edwards who is out walking his dog. Mr Edwards is nice, but few worded, Louis likes that. They are usually out of breath when they meet each other, none of them mentions the others condition, and they sit down on the closest bench together and try to catch their breath. Sometimes Mr Edwards will light a cigarette and Louis takes the one he is offered and they smoke in silence. As a goodbye they nod at each other and continue their walks.

 

When twenty eight minutes have passed since he left the flat, Louis is out of the park and back into the city environment. Everything seems much louder out there and Louis walks a few feet to the red light and waits until it’s his time to cross the road. There, one the other side of the road, is his favorite café.  _ The Story of the Moonlight  _ is the name of the café and Louis is not sure why that is. He likes it none the less and as usual he walks in, listens to the bell ring, signaling that someone entered, and he walks up to the desk where the same lanky man will greet him. Curly hair put back in a bun and a big friendly smile plastered on his face, a hint of dimples hiding in both of his cheeks, and he will welcome Louis and ask if he wants the usual, and Louis will nod and offer a small smile. The usual is nothing more than a cup of coffee, no milk, no cream, no sugar, no nothing, just plain coffee. Louis loves tea with milk, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to change his order. So he pays and sits down in one of the seats by the window and sips his plain coffee.

 

Sitting there he watches people come and go, carrying on with their lives without a thought of the skinny man watching them pass him by. Sometimes Louis will read the papers, letting himself read about what is troubling the country today. Sometimes, if there are no customers coming, the man behind the desk, Harry, will sit down with him. Harry talks a lot, he talks with ease and a smile. He tells Louis about what happened on his last shift, or about how his evening classes went, or about his family back home, or about some other project he is working on. Harry is a photographer when he isn’t studying or working at the café and he has asked countless of times if Louis will let him photograph him sometime. It’s with a sigh and a gaze down on the table that Louis will decline every time, but Harry seems to still have hope that Louis will change his mind. He asks Louis to write about him, when he gets to know that that is what Louis does in his spare time. Writing. And Louis says he will, and he does. He writes about Harry, Martha and Mr Edwards, and he writes about the people that walk past him without a second thought and he writes about his teachers, and he writes about everyone he finds remotely interesting. He never finishes anything though, he just keeps writing and writing new things about everyone and he hopes that he will one day understand what makes him so different from them.

 

***

 

One day, when he arrives at the café, hair wet from the rain and ten minutes later than he usually arrives, he’s late because Martha wanted them to decide on a date that Louis could have tea with her and Louis had to try to come up with a good excuse to why this week was not good. And then he met Mr Edwards, who spoke more than three sentences, because he was upset about his lung cancer getting worse, so Louis offered him some comfort and tried to ease the man’s mind and then they smoked another cigarette. Louis thinks Mr Edwards will be dead within the month and that scares him a bit, because he know he might end up in the exact same way. With lungs giving out on him and having to gasp for air, sometimes he feels like he is already there but it is for a different reason than Mr Edwards.

 

Because of Louis’ late arrival at the café, there is already a man sitting in his seat by the window. Louis orders his coffee and Harry chats with him for a while by the desk and Louis tries his best to be polite and nice, and he has to once again decline the offer of being photographed. Louis then takes his coffee and walks over to his table where the other man is sitting. He clears his throat to catch the man’s attention and when he does he is struck by the brown of the man’s eyes and the long black eyelashes framing them.

 

“Can I sit here?” Louis asks and tries to not stutter as he watches the beautiful man bite his bottom lip and then lick over it. It seems as if the action is unnoticed by the man because he seems to not know the implication the small action made. The man nods and shrugs at the same time and says a quiet ‘Sure’, which Louis accepts and sits down on the opposite side of the table.

 

A silence falls over them and Louis looks out over the people walking down the street and he scribbles down notes in his journal and tries to not stare too much at the stranger in front of him. He writes about him instead, he writes about the mysterious aura around the man, the way he seems to know something that noone else does, how he keeps his chin tilted up in an arrogant way, how his eyes keep searching the room and his fingers never quit moving on the table. He is moving his fingers on the table, as if tracing an outline of something Louis cannot see. Louis writes about the invisible figures the man draws, about the tight set of his jaw, about how his shoulders seem tense and how it doesn’t make sense. How someone that beautiful can seem so uncomfortable in his own skin. Louis writes and writes about the stranger and he doesn’t understand how he isn’t running out of things to write. But whenever he finishes a sentence, something new seems to come from the stranger. The way his thin fingers close tightly around his cup, which Louis guesses if filled with tea, and how his hands shake ever so slightly when he raises the cup to his lips and takes a careful sip. He puts the cup down between each sip, as if savouring every ounce of it.

 

Louis’ coffee's getting cold in the untouched cup and Louis wishes once again he would change his order and allow himself to have the tea that the stranger is drinking so carefully. Louis knows he can’t though. Because he would rather force coffee down his throat than to drink milkless tea, and to drink tea with milk is no longer an option. It hasn’t been for a long while.

 

This time it is the man in front of him that clears his throat to catch Louis’ attention. His eyes are flickering around Louis’ face, never settling on one spot to look at, and Louis tries to not shrink under the exploring gaze. He nods at the stranger, as if to prompt him to speak up. And the man bites his lip once again before he licks over it and he clears his throat again.

“My name’s Zayn.” the man’s voice is smooth and somewhat average, not as dark as Louis had imagined, but still darker than Louis’ own.

“Louis.” says Louis and offers his hand to the man, who shakes it and Louis is surprised to find Zayn’s hand being just as cold as his own. They release each other after just a second and then they return to their own business, Zayn taking small sips of his almost finished tea and tracing patterns on the table, Louis alternates between writing down things about Zayn in his notebook and gazing out of the window. He writes about Zayn’s voice and his cold fingers and he writes about the way he bites his lip. 

 

Louis finally drinks his coffee and tries not to flinch as the bitter taste touches his tongue and the now cool liquid runs down his throat. He gulps down all of it in one go and tries not to be sick all over the table. The coffee doesn’t settle nicely in his empty stomach and Louis can feel his hands shaking from the shock of caffeine, and he wishes once again he’d change his order.

Zayn is giving him a curious look while Louis finishes his coffee.

 

“Not a big fan of coffee?” the darker man asks and Louis shrugs and wills his hands to stop shaking so he can write some more. He knows it is a battle he can’t win so he closes his journal and puts it back with the pen in his small backpack.

 

“More of a tea man.” he whispers in answer, as if admitting it is a crime. He wonders if the man thinks he is stupid for ordering coffee when it is clear that he has a big dislike of it.

 

“Why the coffee then?” Zayn pries and Louis looks over at Harry who is holding a conversation with one of the older customers, they look like they're both enjoying themselves and Louis thinks about Martha, about how rude it was of him to brush off her tea offer once again. Maybe he should reconsider it.

 

“Old habits die hard?” Louis answers lamely, though it sounds more like a question than the statement he was meant to give. Zayn nods thoughtfully at Louis’ answer and seems to accept it. Both of them glance at the clock and begin to speak. Blush colours Louis’ cheeks red and he thinks he can see a tint of colour on Zayn’s cheeks as well. They try again, this time Louis speaking.

 

“I should get going to class, but it was nice… meeting you and sitting here.” he says and Louis finds himself meaning it and the way Zayn’s eyes seem to brighten makes him  think Zayn enjoyed it too.

 

“Yeah? I should also go to…yea... We should ehm… we should do this again., if you want that is, maybe you could have tea instead?” Zayn says and Louis bites down a bitter smile that he wishes he didn’t wear. He can’t have the tea but he sure can sit with Zayn again, so he nods and stands up.

 

“Sounds good, I’m here every morning around the same time, so if you’re around we can sit together.” Louis says and Zayn nods. He looks a lot more alive now than he did when Louis first saw him at the table, back then he looked a bit more gray and untouchable, as if he wasn’t really there. Now, standing in front of Louis, he looks more vibrant, still dull around the edges, but he’s smiling and there’s a warmth to him that Louis hadn’t noticed before. 

 

They say good bye.

 

***

 

It’s another two mornings before Louis sees Zayn again. This morning Louis promised he would have tea with Martha once he was done with his classes today and Louis can already feel his hands shaking and his breath struggling to come out smoothly. He had to light Mr Edwards cigarette in the park today because the older man’s hands shook worse than Louis’ and he had to stop and cough every other minute, his handkerchief coloured red by blood, Louis tried to ignore it. They didn’t talk at all and opted to enjoy the calm of the early morning and watch the few people and animals that came into their line of sight. Louis wonders if he will ever see Mr Edwards again, he doubts it.

 

Harry had greeted him as usual and talked about all that came to his mind for about five minutes, not that Louis minded, and Louis had once again order his coffee and sat down by the window.

 

With eyes carefully watching the people go by he drinks his coffee, opting not to write today because he knows his hands are shaking too badly to form any letters. His bones are hurting today and he feels weighed down by Mr Edwards condition and the tea he has promised Martha. He just wants to go back to his small flat and watch the pigeons through the window and listen to some soft music that will help him fill his pages with words.

 

Someone clears their throat. Louis forces his eyes away from the sidewalk and to meet the dark gaze of Zayn. He nods at him and Zayn sits down with a gracefulness Louis hadn’t thought was possible to achieve. He has a cup of tea on the table and he eyes Louis’ coffee with amusement before he lets his eyes drift out of the window. It’s calm.

 

They don’t speak for a while and Louis lets the silence of Zayn’s company fill him up. He saves every detail of it and loves it. The silence isn’t forced, nor is it awkward, it’s just a natural silence between two people. Louis thinks it might be because they have loud minds, he knows his head is loud and he appreciates every moment of peace he can get, sometimes he doesn’t have the strength to speak, because he needs to overpower the voices in his head to get a word out. And sometimes he needs to speak, or listen to someone else speaking, because he needs something to distract himself from his own thoughts.

 

“There’s an art gallery that opens downtown on Friday, I was eh thinking about going…” Zayn says and Louis nods and puts his cup down. He holds Zayn’s gaze for a while before he lets his eyes find the table and he nods again.

 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Louis asks and he can hear Zayn let out a breath that he seems to have been holding. He nods quickly, the quickest movement Louis has seen him make and Louis smiles lightly at him and nods back. “What time should we meet?”

 

“We can meet here at seven and walk together to the place, it eh it opens at seven thirty.” Zayn says and Louis nods. He hopes he will be able to keep up with Zayn, that he won’t be totally out of breath when they walk. He hopes his knees won’t be on the verge of giving in and that his bones won’t ache so badly.

 

“Sounds good.” Louis says instead of voicing any of his concerns and Zayn nods and smiles lightly. It’s a weak smile, even in Louis’ eyes, it’s a smile that barely lifts the sides of your mouth and takes no effort to make, it seems to payne Zayn though, even such a small smile seems to take a lot of effort and pain. Louis doesn’t mention it. They fall silent again and Louis drinks the rest of his coffee and watches Zayn finish his tea.

 

This time when they say good bye, Zayn’s lips touch Louis’ cheek for the shortest time but Louis can still feel the way his cheeks heat up and an unstoppable smile creep up on his face. This time when Zayn smiles it doesn’t seem to pain him and he leaves without another word.

 

Louis is knocking on Martha’s door and he considers running away just as the door opens and he is pulled into a hug. She welcomes him and says that she’s sorry for the mess. Louis promises her it is alright, he doesn’t mention that there is no mess. Her apartment is put together in such a perfection that Louis is afraid to hang his coat wrongly. He feels sad for a moment, because he knows Martha lives alone and he figures that cleaning is the only thing she can occupy herself with here, that and talking to Louis when she’s fetching her mail. She shows him around the house, finding new things to apologies for in each room, and Louis tells her it’s okay each time. They finally sit down in the living room which has soft pink walls and a couch and two armchairs to match, on the walls she has pictures of her grandkids and her own kids, a few of them are of Martha herself and her now dead husband. Their wedding picture is in black and white and she looks stunning with her hair in a loose bun and makeup professionally done and the white dress hugging her younger body. Her husband has a serious face but a warm smile and eyes that shine through in the picture, he is clean shaven and tall and Louis can somehow feel the love that they had for each other. He longs for it to reach him and he wonders if he could ever find it with Zayn. He dismisses the thought.

 

Martha has given him a warm cup of tea with just a splash of milk, the way Louis loves it, and there is a tray with cookies and scones on the oak table. Louis doesn’t dare to touch them, even as Martha tells him he should. She often says things like that, how Louis should eat more and that she always has freshly baked cookies and bread if he wants any. Louis still declines.

 

She eats her own cookies instead and they have an easy conversation going between them, Louis tells her about his plans with Zayn and she gets really excited and begs to meet this mysterious man one day, Louis says that they can probably work that out and she hugs him. She then shows him an old photo album and Louis looks at the worn out pictures of a younger Martha who probably never felt alone. He wonders if she wishes she had died before she became lonely.

 

***

 

Louis has to pause six times on his way to the café on Friday night. His knees are aching just as he feared they would and the London wind is unforgiving as it nearly knocks him over a few times. His teeth are chattering and he wishes he could have dressed in one more sweater, he’s already wearing two underneath his jacket. The sky's getting darker and Louis feels faint when he finally reaches the café. He leans against the building and closes his eyes for a moment and wills himself to catch his breath. Footsteps are coming his way and Louis opens his eyes to see Zayn offering him a cigarette. He takes it wordlessly and allows Zayn to light it for him. They start walking slowly and their hands somehow find each other and Louis can’t help but smile at the feeling of the cold hand in his own.

 

It isn’t a very long walk but it takes them a bit over ten minutes to get there and Zayn lights them yet another cigarette as they wait for the doors to open. They speak a few words to each other, mostly cursing the bad weather. 

 

When the doors to the gallery finally open there are at least twenty other people waiting and Louis’ toes and fingers are numb with the cold and he can see Zayn’s lip being more blue than the soft pink they usually are and his cheeks have a red tint to them and Louis is sure he looks the same. The art in the gallery is beautiful, most of it has some kind of flower pattern in colour combinations that harmonies and makes Louis feel calm and warm. He is slowly gaining feeling in his toes again. They watch the art in silence but their hands have yet to let go of the other and Louis looks at Zayn looking at the art, sees him taking in every single detail of it and how his lips form silent words. Louis understands that Zayn’s an artist then. 

He figures it by the way he seems to be swallowed up by the art in front of him and how he seems as if he is in some kind of trance. It’s beautiful. To see someone be in their element. To see how all tension flows out of them and how they hang onto everything they see.

 

It takes them two hours to look at the sixteen pieces of art that is displayed, and Zayn’s lips are no longer blue and his cheeks have returned to their pale colour again. When they leave the gallery it’s raining. But Zayn has a friend who is hosting a party a few blocks away and he promised they would stop by. So they walk. It doesn’t take long for them to be shivering and have their teeths chattering loudly. Every taxi that drives by them is out of service so they have to keep walking. Louis can’t feel any body part any more and he is shivering so badly he can barely walk straight. Zayn is no better though, so they walk closely, trying to feed off each others non existence body heat.

 

It takes them ages to reach the party and Louis wants nothing more than to go home when they arrive. The music from the flat can be heard on the street and Louis can see the light flashing from the windows. He stops walking, bringing Zayn to a stop as well. They don’t smile and Zayn nods as if he understands.

 

“I’ll call you a cab.” he says and Louis shivers and nods. They let go of each other and Louis stomps his feet and rubs his hands together in an useless attempt to get warm. Zayn watches him while he calls the cab and then they wait. It will take the cab five minutes to get there and they’re both shivering and pacing around to find some kind of warmth. They bump into each other and Louis cracks a small smile which Zayn returns and then they’re kissing. It’s a heavy kiss with a hint of desperation and Louis is shocked by the warmth of Zayn’s tongue against his lips, the kiss goes deeper and Louis can’t stop a small whimper from coming out from his mouth and the kiss and kiss and kiss and then they stop. They’re both out of breath with cheeks that are tinted red not only because of the cold air.

 

The taxi arrives and they say good bye.

 

***

 

When Louis walks to the café the next Monday he knows Mr Edwards has died, there is no one walking his dog in the park and Louis somehow feels it when he sits down on their bench. Mr Edwards won’t be there again.

 

Louis doesn’t stay long in the park but leaves a pack of cigarettes on the bench they usually sit on before he continues walking. At the café Harry greets him and before Harry can make his order Louis speaks up.

 

“I’ll have a tea, with just a splash of milk. Please.” the words rush out before he can regret them and he can see Harry’s eyebrows lift in surprise but he nods and starts making the tea.

 

“Coming right up for ya’.” he says and winks and Louis bites his lip hard, already regretting his choice. He’s tense when he pays and thanks Harry and his hands shakes when he carries his beverage to his usual table and he ends up spilling some of it. He then looks out through the window and tries to take deep breaths.

 

Zayn arrives five minutes later and takes the seat in front of Louis, he looks at Louis’ cup and smiles.

“You decided tea was an option?” he says, asks, Louis’ not sure and Louis looks down at the untouched liquid and shrugs.

 

“Haven’t really decided yet.”

 

“Their tea is good, probably better than the coffee you usually drink.” Zayn says and smiles and Louis tries to smile back, although he’s quite sure it looks more like a grimace than a smile. Taking a deep breath he lifts the cup to his lips and let’s the smallest amount of tea slip into his mouth. It’s heavenly. The mix of the milk that makes the tea’s strong flavour a bit softer and the fruity, yet bitter, tones of the tea harmonies in his mouth. He puts the cup down and let’s out a happy sigh.

 

“Haven’t had tea in so long, didn’t quite realize I missed it this much.” Louis explains and bite down on his lip. He’s slightly ashamed for enjoying the tea as much as he did, but God has he missed it. In this moment he doubts whether he should ever refrain from drinking tea again, but then he thinks a bit more about it and decides that no, he shouldn’t make drinking tea a habit again. Maybe something he can treat himself with when he deserves it, but it cannot become an everyday kind of thing. It’s not worth it in the end. He has to think about the bigger picture, about the outcome of it all, not the short moment he can enjoy it.

 

Zayn smiles politely at Louis’ admission and takes a sip from his own cup. 

 

“Thank you for coming with me to the gallery, I had a nice time…” Zayn says after a short while of silence, in which Louis has yet to take a second sip of his steadily cooling tea.

 

“Yea, me too. It was really nice, would love to do something like it again.” Louis says and quietly drums his cold fingers against the table. He doesn’t understand why they never seem to warm up. It’s absolutely awful during winter, and the fact that he always seems to forget his gloves doesn’t make the situation better. He can’t remember the last time his fingers weren’t tinted blue or pink from his awful blood circulation. He should probably talk to a doctor.

 

“Really? Well, ehm I don’t mean to be too intrusive, but if you would like to you could join me for my friend’s concert. It’s really just a small gig at a pub closeby, and they’re not like famous or anything, but they make quite cool music, bit on the rocky side.” Zayn can’t seem to decide where he wants to look while he offers this and Louis lets a soft smile cover his face as he nods.

 

“Count me in, when is it?” Louis asks and lifts his cup to his lips, but puts it down before he can take a sip. He doesn’t dare to. His stomach feels as if it’s protesting from the fat milk and the sweet tea. He shouldn’t drink tea, he really shouldn’t. There was a reason he stopped, why did he ever think it would be a good decision to drink it again? He’s stupid, so so stupid and now he feels sick. 

 

“It’s on Tuesday night, which is a stupid day, since most people have work or classes in the morning, but they’ll be done around eleven I think, they should be at least, or we could just leave then.” Zayn says and he stumbles a bit over his words, as if he’s worried Louis will lash out on him, or decide that it’s a bad idea.

 

“It sounds really great, I don’t have work or classes in the morning, so it’s okay.” Louis reassures and smiles, to which Zayn smiles back and nods quickly.

 

“Do you study or do you work?” he asks then and Louis is slightly taken back by it. They haven’t really discussed personal life, which might be a bit weird since they shared a heated kiss in the rain and might soon be going on their second date (is it a date?).

 

“I have a few classes, study literature and creative writing, have had a few things published, nothing big, but I’m working on it.” Louis admits and lets out a breath. He has a deadline next month, his publisher wants to have a draft of the book Louis has been supposed to work on the last year, he has twenty seven pages so far and a lot of other unfinished works. He never seems to be able to finish anything.

 

“That’s cool, writing is your passion then?”

 

“I guess you could say that, I’m not very good at it though, but it’s nice to get your thoughts down on paper every once in awhile.” Passion is such a strong word to Louis. If he had been asked when he was sixteen, he would have said football was his passion. Between the age of eight and seventeen he had spent more time on the football pitch than he had writing. 

 

Football had been his life, the reason he even went to school (if he didn’t keep his grades up he wouldn’t get to stay on the team), it was what most of his spare time was spent doing. Football occupied his mind all day, he even dreamt about football most nights. And he was great at it. He could have had a future in it, everyone saw it and he had so many people supporting him, the school was more than ready to help him with a scholarship to one of the greatest football universities in the U.K. But he had thrown it away. He had fucked it up, as he did with everything. And now he hadn’t even touched a football in almost seven years. 

 

He had gone to university for writing instead. The fictional world suddenly seemed a whole lote more appealing to him than the real world did. So his last two years in Doncaster college was spent impressing his English teacher with a talent she hadn’t thought he had, and spending all his spare time in his room with his cheap laptop writing and living in a world that wasn’t real. He had entered countless of writing contests and been given a price in almost all of them. He had found a new “passion”, although it didn’t feel quite as real as football had.

 

“I totally get you, I paint, same reason. It’s nice to sort your thoughts out and just like get it out of your system, right?”

 

“Yea.” sorting his thoughts out and getting it out from his head was the reason Louis started writing. At seventeen the world seemed to end, with his one true passion slipping through his fingers, trying to figure out who he was and not being able to recognize himself in the mirror anymore Writing was an escape that seventeen year old Louis desperately needed and he still hadn’t stopped running. He doesn’t know where he’s heading anymore.

 

“You in university?” Louis asks when he finally snaps out of his thoughts and Zayn shakes his head lightly.

 

“Didn’t have the money, work shifts at one of the Sainsbury’s to get by while I try to gain some recognition for my art. Could call me a struggling artist, I guess, but rather this than living a life I don’t want.” Zayn says and Louis can see the tiredness hiding under Zayn’s, at first glance, flawless face. Louis wonders if Zayn really thinks this life is better than the one he could have been living. If maybe Zayn does think that going to a local university and studying to become a teacher or another study that isn’t as expensive as art school, and then working at a school and not having to worry about money or whether his dream will come true or not. Louis’ not sure which life he would have prefered. 

 

“Yea, uni is way too expensive, got a scholarship and I get some money for my published stuff, but I’m lucky. If my teacher hadn’t taken pity on me in college, I wouldn’t ever be in uni.” it is true, Louis didn’t apply to any scholarships after his football dreams shattered. His English teacher had in Louis’ final year, asked Louis about his university choices, to which Louis had shrugged and said he didn’t think he would apply to any. The teacher had then gathered some of Louis’ better texts and submitted them to wherever they go and sorted out a scholarship for Louis with a lot of courses in creative and professional writing, as well as literature and some other courses Louis had already finished. He only has one term left of uni before he’s done. He doesn’t know what to do with that.

 

“It’s rough, all creative subjects are so underappreciated, I mean everyone wants to have art on their walls, or read a book, or go to a concert, or see a movie, or even wear clothes, but yet they don’t want us to have a chance to create any of that. They say our dreams are unrealistic, yet they encourage their kids to follow their dreams up until the moment they want to make it reality, just because they don’t think we can make it big time. But maybe I don’t want to make it big time, yeah? Maybe I just want to have a local art store or gallery, where I can sell my things and earn enough to get by. I don’t need to be the next Picasso or whatever, I just want to make art and share it with those who want it.” Zayn rants and Louis can see his frustration written all over his face and Louis doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know where all of this anger can hide inside such a skinny, calm person as Zayn. How he can hide all of that one moment, just to let it out the next. And Louis doesn’t think he has ever heard Zayn talk so much in one go. He’s shocked.

 

“I feel you, I mean, as I’ve said I’ve been lucky and actually gotten published, but it’s tough. It could have been a lot better.” Louis says quietly and Zayn nods and continues nodding for a long time. He looks like he’s lost in his own head and Louis can relate. He knows what it is like to see a problem clear and have the solution for it, but not having the power to put it in action. What it is like to know all the reasons to why things are like they are, and know how to avoid it, but yet not being able to actually avoid it. Knowing that by they way things are that you’re heading towards a disaster, knowing you should hit the breaks and how you do that, but not being able to put your foot down and stopping the motion from happening. It can drive you insane to dwell on it.

 

“Do you think that it will change? That people will stop looking down on people and continue to support them when they actually follow their dreams?” Zayn asks and bites his lip. There’s a vulnerability in Zayn’s gaze that has Louis rethinking how he should answer, a rawness in Zayn’s eyes that Louis hasn’t gotten to see much of before.

 

“I think that there will always be people who are jerks and won’t support you. I do though think that if they’re good people, they will want you to do what makes you happy and if following your dreams makes you happy, then they will give you all the support they can.” Louis answers and he feels as if his words fall flat and he can see on Zayn’s face that he isn’t entirely satisfied with Louis’ half answer.

 

“Did your family support your dreams of being a writer?” Zayn asks instead and Louis looks down on his cold tea and shrugs.

 

“They weren’t unsupportive, but me wanting to write was quite unheard of until my last year in college. It came as a surprise to them. I had like up til I was seventeen talked about being a football player and all of my plans for the future involved football. So they were confused, I guess, and when the ehm reason or whatever for why I didn’t have football in my plans anymore came out, they were unhappy. They tried to like change my mind about it, but I already knew I just wouldn’t go back to that life, so I left for university and I haven’t really spoken to them since. My sisters and I text every once in awhile, but that’s it.” Louis admits and he is surprised by how easily the words left his mouth, words that he usually wouldn’t even consider thinking about telling anyone. Zayn also looks surprised, he probably hadn’t expected such a long answer from Louis who usually tries to answer with as short sentences as possible.

 

“Why didn’t you want to be a football player anymore? Can I ask that, or is it like, too personal? You don’t have to answer…” Zayn’s asks and Louis knows Zayn is curious and that because of Louis’ admission the football things sounds like a mystery. He sighs.

 

“Things were changing, I was changing, and then things went shit. That’s the eh simple version of it, I don’t really want to talk about it.” Louis whispers and looks down. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Doesn’t want to remember it. Doesn’t want to think about all the things that happened. How he realised he didn’t like girls, kept it a secret, fucked more girls, dated some, repressed the part of him that he couldn’t deny. Let his sexuality fill him with anxiety and shame until he couldn’t handle it and told one of his most trustworthy friends. A friend who turned out to not be as trustworthy as Louis had judged him to be. News about Louis being gay spreading across the school, the football team knowing about it. Them shaming him for it, beating him up, kicking him out. Ending his dreams right then and there. Then Louis training alone in the park, trying to keep his dream alive, only to realise he couldn't ever have it. Looking at himself in the mirror and seeing a stranger, not knowing what to do with himself now that such an important part of who he thought he was got taken away. Not liking who he was without it. Writing. Obsessing over numbers. Writing some more. Hiding in his room. Spending the nights in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet. Withdrawing from everything. No longer wanting to live. No, he’s not going to talk about it.

 

The conversation ends.

 

***

 

Tuesday night comes around and Louis managed to decide on something to wear after ages spent staring blindly at his closest. He doesn’t usually put on a fuss about what to wear, usually just takes a pair of black jeans and a cozy long sleeve. But he wants to look nice tonight. Wants to be able to look good next to Zayn, wants to fit in. He has decided on some black skinny jeans (which aren’t very skinny anymore, haven’t been in about a year since he bought them) and a dark red jumper that covers about a third of his thighs. It might not be very fancy clothing, but he feels slightly artistic and he knows that this shade of red suits him well.

 

A knock on his door rips him out of his thoughts and he quickly looks around his room and grabs his jacket along with a pack of cigarettes and his phone and keys. He turns off the light and walks over to the hallway and opens the door. He and Zayn shares a brief hug, barely letting their bodies touch before pulling away. Louis is happy with it. He hates hugging people and getting his body pressed up against someone else’s, hates feeling their body mass against his and knowing that they can feel him as well. Hates the questions it rises.

 

Zayn is dressed in all black and around his eyes is a neatly applied eyeliner which makes his eyes look gorgeous and Louis has to stop himself from hiding inside the bedroom. He looks like shit next to Zayn. The black clothing brings out the skinniness of his body more than his usual clothes and Louis feels concerned for a moment before Zayn smiles and kisses his cheek.

 

“You look amazing.” Zayn whispers and Louis bites his lip and feels his cheeks heat up, he tries to hide it by looking down, but a gentle grip on his chin forces his eyes to meet Zayn’s again. The kiss they share is sweet and Louis can’t help but sigh into it. Zayn’s lips are surprisingly warm and not as chapped as Louis’ own. Louis wraps his arms around Zayn’s neck and he can feel a smile form on Zayn’s lips and Louis can’t help but match it.

 

They pull away and Louis is happy to see that he isn’t the only one with blush colouring his cheeks.

 

“Are you ready to leave?” Zayn asks and Louis feels his pockets to make sure he has everything before he nods and takes Zayn’s hand in his own. Unlike his lips, Zayn’s hands are freezing, probably a bit more than Louis’s own. He ignores it.

 

They walk out of the apartment and into the cool winter night and Louis can already feel shivers creep up inside of him. He should have grabbed an extra shirt. Zayn isn’t faring any better and they must looks stupid as they walk towards the pub, hand in hand and shivering like there’s no tomorrow. He feels happy at least.

 

It is significantly warmer inside the pub and Louis sighs in relief as the sticking begins in his fingers and toes. Zayn leads them over to an empty booth and pulls Louis in beside him. Louis tries to hide a giggle, but the glint in Zayn’s eyes and his surprised smile tells him he had heard it. Louis pecks Zayn’s lips and smiles when he pulls back. His stomach is filled with butterflies and he feels slightly stupid for being this happy because of someone he barely knows. But there is something about Zayn that just makes him stop and drop all his concerns and let himself feel good. He thinks and hopes it is the same for Zayn, he has seen the uncontrollable smile that seems to sneak up on his face whenever their eyes meet. It’s like everything around them just stops and they can just let go and be themselves for a while. Louis hasn’t felt like that in ages, and he is scared for the moment it will end.

 

The band starts playing and it is just a tad bit too loud for Louis’ comfort, but they’re good. Maybe not the most meaningful lyrics, but he feels the band’s enthusiasm and how the crowd seems to be hanging onto every note that they play. It’s beautiful in a way, how people can put their differences aside and just enjoy music.

 

Zayn leans in close and Louis takes his eyes off the stage and is met by a paler version of Zayn than the one he walked with to the pub. Before Louis can question it, Zayn excused himself and tells Louis he just has to use the bathroom, but that he will be right back. Louis lets him out of the booth and watches him stumble over towards the restrooms. The butterflies in his stomach seem to have died and are now lying heavy in the bottom of his stomach. He knows the look on Zayn’s face, has been there, done that, knows what this means and he’s just so tired. So damn tired. It is like all the happiness and excitement he had felt just moments ago, now has vanished. Just by the look on Zayn’s face, everything good is gone. Louis isn’t sure what to do with it.

 

It’s about ten minutes later when Zayn comes back with a smile and a small excuse which Louis accepts and tries not to think about the bruises on Zayn’s knuckles. He looks away.

 

It’s only a short while later when Zayn excuses himself again and leaving for the bathroom. Louis sighs deeply and looks down at the drink he ordered at the beginning of the night, but has yet to touch, and he then looks over to the three empty ones that Zayn ordered. Louis takes a sip of his own and lets the burning sensation fill his throat and the alcohol land warmly in his stomach. It’s disgusting and Louis scrunches up his nose and puts the drink down again. He has never been big on drinking. Never liked the way he gets when he gets drunk; all soft and flirty and then sad. So sad, drinking isn’t a way for him to forget or escape; it’s a way for him to get in touch with his emotions and have nothing that can stop them from washing over him. Drinking isn’t for him.

 

The night goes on and Louis doesn’t finish his drink, but he watches Zayn drink and escape for the bathroom more times than he can count. The band stops playing eventually and with one last bathroom break for Zayn, they leave. 

 

They don’t hold hands on the way home, Louis keeps his hands safely in his pockets and forces his eyes to not stare at the ruined knuckles on Zayn’s hands. Zayn seems unaware of it all and he talks, voice more raspy than usual and he talks a lot more than normally about a lot of things and Louis doesn’t even pretend to be listening. He is way too tired. He has gotten a confirmation to something he did not want to know. Can’t handle knowing.

 

He dodges Zayn’s kiss when they say good bye outside of his apartment. He runs up the stairs and hides in the safety of his room. He can’t seem to catch his breath, and his heart is beating out of control and his eyes are burning with unshed tears. He feels lightheaded and he tries to muffle his sobs as he starts crying.

 

He is so tired.

 

***

 

Louis wakes up on the bathroom floor with the taste of vomit in his mouth and traces of it in his hair, his hands and on the floor. The lid of the toilet is open and the smell of vomit is overpowering. There is a journal on the floor a few feet away with messily written numbers in it and beside it is a scale. Louis forces his eyes away.

 

Sitting up proves to be a difficult task and Louis has to give it four tries before he manages to sit somewhat upright with support from the wall. He looks up at the ceiling and blinks , trying to recall how he ended up here. It hits him like a brick when he remembers Zayn and he can feel how a migraine begins to form inside his skull. Eyes closed and with fingers pressing gently against his temples he tries to collect himself. Wills himself to stop feeling like this and act as irrationally as he has. But the tiredness that is deeply settled in his bones exhausts him and he doesn’t know if stopping his reactions is worth the effort.

 

In this moment all he wants is to go back to sleep and to stop thinking and existing for a while. Maybe forever. He isn’t sure which he would prefer. But he’s not suicidal enough to actually  _ try  _ anything, he doesn’t think he has it in him to actively kill himself, he does know though that with the lifestyle he has he is passively killing himself. For some reason his passive way of suicide feels more justified and okay than to actually just get it over with. 

 

Blinking up at the ceiling he makes a decision. It is with great effort and dizziness that he gets to his feet and manages to turn the shower on. His hands are shaking as he undressed and he refuses to look at his body, keeps his gaze trained on the wall. No distractions. He lets the warm water wash away the traces of vomit from his hair and around his mouth and he lets it surround him and tint his skin pink. He doesn’t turn the temperature down. Instead he takes the soap and starts scrubbing his body thoroughly, making the pink tint deeper. It stings badly in his knuckles as the soap reaches the bruised and raw skin and he feels disgusted as his fingers press against his body, marks from his fingers form and disappear whenever he presses too hard. He doesn’t stop. 

 

He cleans up the bathroom floor and he flushes the toilet and brushes his teeth before he leaves the bathroom. His body is shaking when he gets to his bedroom and he quickly dresses in a pair of jeans and a hoodie. He doesn’t bother with his hair.

 

His laptop is already on the kitchen table when he goes there and he fills a bottle with water before taking a seat. He drinks and winces at the rough feeling in his throat. 

 

Writing feels easier than it has in ages and Louis barely moves for over six hours. The text that he transfers from his head to his laptop is simple, but filled with his feelings and his soul. He lets it pour out of himself and when he deems himself finished he closes the laptop and gulps down the rest of the water. His stomach rumbles and he presses one of his hands against it, only to have it make a louder noise. Louis sighs and stands up, doesn’t bother checking the fridge as he picks up an orange from the cupboard. 

 

He cuts it up carefully, ignoring how badly his hands shake, and puts the pieces in a bowl. He takes one of them and sucks out the juice, wincing as the sour liquid slides down his sore throat. The sweetness of it sticks to his mouth and his lips and he feels a bit sick with it. He takes another piece, staring blankly at the clock. Doesn’t register the time, only half aware that it takes him ages to finish half of the fruit.

 

He opens the fridge, scans the empty shelves and puts the bowl with the rest of the orange in it. He knows he won’t actually ever finish it, but it feels better to throw it out later when it’s no longer edible than to throw it out now.

 

He sits down and continues to write.

 

***

 

Louis doesn’t go back to the café. One could actually say he avoids it. He still takes walks though, he does his usual walk through the park, but instead of crossing the road he turns and walks through another section of the park before going home. He tries to tell himself that the reason he doesn’t go back to the café is because he really dislikes the coffee and he can’t allow himself the tea. But he knows that the only reason is because he is scared of facing Zayn again - of having to accept the truth and having to decide what he wants to do with it. Right now he doesn’t want to do anything. So he stays away.

 

More often than not he writes, and there is always a tab open that he can’t seem the bring himself to close. The tab leads to a website that Louis has spent hours browsing, but never really used. It is the tab that makes everything real, that will force him to step out of his carefully built bubble and enter the reality he wants to avoid. Everyday he feels closer to sending the email he has written. He fears he might actually do it.

 

***

 

It takes him a month to dwell on it and avoid the café to every price before he sends the email. He throws up once it is done and then he goes outside.

 

He barely registers himself moving before he opens the door to the café and he can almost hear Harry gasp once he enters.

 

“You’re back! I was scared you had died or something.” Harry calls out before his cheeks begin to tint red and he slaps a hand over his mouth, as if he hadn’t wanted to say what he just said. Louis lets out a small chuckle and takes a quick look at the guests that are seated in the small location. They give him curious glances, but as soon as they see him looking they go back to minding their own businesses. 

 

“Hello, not dead yet I’m afraid, just busy and stuff.” Louis says and Harry lets out a soft sound as he nods.

 

“Tea or coffee, something to eat, anything? It’s on the house.” Harry says with a smile and Louis bites his lip and scans the shelves with sweets. His stomach twists uncomfortable and if he hadn’t thrown up before he left he’s sure he would have felt bile rising in his throat.

 

“Some coffee would be great.” he answers and Harry gives him a sad smile and nods.

 

“Coming right up for you. Have you been getting any writing done?” Harry asks as he turns around to make the coffee.

 

“Yeah, been quite productive lately, don’t really know why or how. Have you been taking any pictures?” Louis counters and Harry turns back to face him and smiles widely.

 

“I’ve been taking loads of pictures. Everything is so beautiful this time of the year when frost covers everything and makes it glimmer. And all the people who are hurrying around to get Christmas shopping done or just to get out of the cold. It’s so mesmerizing.” he pauses and smiles sweetly, “Would you consider letting me take a picture of you today? You look absolutely stunning in that scarf and beanie.- Really brings out the blue in your eyes.”

 

Louis hesitates, and Harry must notice by the way his eyes lights up with hope. Usually Louis will blankly say no, before Harry even finishes asking. But today… Something stops him from saying no. Maybe it’s the fact that he feels guilty for making Harry worry that he was dead, or it is the fact that it will probably take months until the next time he enters the café again, or maybe he just changes his mind for no reason. Whatever it is, Louis finds himself nodding after a moment of silence and whisper a quiet ‘okay’.

 

“Really? I mean, you don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable, but I would be so so happy if you would let me.” Harry says and he seems unsure about how he is supposed to react. Louis smiles and lets out a soft laugh as he nods.

 

“It would be okay… I’m eh actually leaving for a while, so I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

 

“Oh, you’re going away?” Harry’s voice is filled with disappointment and concern and Louis nods lightly.

 

“Yeah, I ehm need to deal with some personal things that I’ve ignored for too long. Catches up with you in the end, you know.” Louis says and shrugs with a sad smile, which Harry returns.

 

“You know what they say; better late than never. Eh… your dark haired friend has been here almost every day looking for you, did something happen? You obviously don’t have to tell me..” Harry says and Louis’ heart stops for a moment and he swallows harshly. The mention of Zayn makes something hot and uncomfortable fill Louis’ stomach and he can almost feel himself starting to glare. He feels irrational for reacting like this, but something about Zayn’s condition makes him angry. Angry at Zayn for not telling him and acting like all is fine, angry at himself for not noticing and then being angry when he finally noticed. He feels stupid and betrayed. And he feels like he has no right to feel the way he does. It drives him crazy.

 

“Ah yeah, eh Zayn… Well we faced some difficulties and I have kind of been avoiding him. I don’t think he really understands what happened, but it’s just a bit too much for me to handle, I guess.- His troubles on top of mine, that is. Yeah.” the explanation feels stiff and awkward as it leaves Louis’ lips and he sighs and shakes his head lightly at himself. 

 

Harry nods, as if he understands and gives him a sad smile before speaking again.

“I hope you manage to figure it out with him, you seemed happier together...I’ll let you drink your coffee in peace and if you haven’t changed your mind by then, I’ll take your picture.” 

 

It’s with a small smile and a warm cup of coffee in his hands that Louis makes his way over to his usual spot in the small cafe. He sighs as he sits down and gets his notebook from his bag and starts scribble down small bits from his conversation with Harry. He writes about the way Harry’s eyes lit up with hope when he got Louis’ permission for the picture and how the dulled when Louis told him he was leaving soon. He writes about his own fears about leaving. About the not knowing whether it is what he wants or not, if it will be worth it. He writes about hating himself for giving in to something he has been avoiding for years, something he told himself he would never do. And he writes about how he’s doing it because he has realised he doesn’t  _ need  _ to hate himself. There are other options. He’s giving life a second chance. Giving himself a second chance. He hopes it’s worth it.

 

***

 

He doesn’t see Zayn before he leaves, but he sends him a text.

 

**To: Zayn**

**From: Louis**

**_Hi! It’s been awhile...sorry about that, I guess. I’ve been busy and I have needed some time to think. About myself, about you; us. Haven’t really come to any conclusion more than we won’t be able to continue like we have. We both need help, and we cannot give that to each other. Not the way we need it._ **

**_We’re both sick. I think I’ve always known you were too skinny and sad for it to just be blamed on genetics, but I didn’t want to face it. But then, the night at the pub, when you just kept going to the bathroom always saying you’d be right back. I knew then. And I could no longer ignore it. It takes one to know one, and I think you’ve got it bad. I do hope you get the help you need and that you understand why I have been absent._ **

**_I’m getting help. Realising that you were sick was a bit like wakeup call for me, and I’m dealing with it. I hope you will too._ **

**_Best of luck and I hope we’ll meet again._ **

**_Louis xxx_ **

 

He doesn’t proofread the message before sending it and turning off his phone. His bags are packed and he has a cab waiting for him outside the building.

 

He leaves and doesn’t look back.

  
**The end.**


End file.
